To Disappear
by Daggy-kun
Summary: I can't be forgotten. I'm too awesome to fade away. It's impossible, and I won't let this happen!
1. To Act

**A/N:** I own nothing. Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to it's rightful owner. I do, however, take full responsiblity for this story. However crappy and vent like it may be.

* * *

><p>Silence never suited him. His pride and his stubbornness were too loud and too obvious for it. No, the thunderous ring of gun fire and the teeth-grinding clash of steel were what he was known for. Even when among allies and friends, he was never peaceful. His signature laughter could be heard all the way across a crowded ball room, forever mocking and the center of attention.<p>

To think that one so boisterous, so awesome, could be so easily left behind.

It started slow, and crept up on him so subtly that there was nothing he could do to stop it. It was at a world meeting when he first noticed a few of the others staring at him with confused looks on their faces. He merely brushed it off as admiration, just knowing that they were all wondering how he kept his hair so perfect, or his teeth so white.

A few weeks later, when the next world meeting was scheduled, his name wasn't printed on the invitation his brother received in the mail. This got him curious; how could they forget to mention someone as awesome as him? He spoke to Germany about it; who really didn't have much of an answer except that they simply had too many letters to send to not make a mistake every once in a while. He begrudgingly conceded the point, telling himself that he was going to have to remind the idiot who wrote the invites exactly who he was.

After that, individuals started acting more strangely around him than was particularly normal. France and Spain, the two he considered his closest friends, kept brushing off his advances and requests to go partying; and doing so with weird and awkward expressions like they had no clue why he was asking them. When he went to visit Canada, all he got was a "who?" before the door was closed in his face.

Even Germany, his own brother, was starting to watch him funny; like he knew who he was, but he couldn't quite remember his name. Just the day before, when he walked into the place he'd called home since the tearing down of the Wall, Germany had looked about ready to throw him bodily back out. The frown was there, the set in his stance, the hand inching toward the hidden firearm at his side; and the only thing that stopped West from shooting East, was the little bird chirping on his shoulder.

Not his laugh, not his hair or his eyes or his name. But his damned bird, that made Germany remember.

And now, standing here at the back of a world conference, all he could really do was smirk and chuckle. He was going to get the last laugh after all. No weapons were permitted at these meetings; for safety reasons; but they had conveniently over looked him.

"My name will stay in the history books. I will NOT be forgotten! Not me, not me, not me!" he gave one final 'kesesese', before aiming the barrel of his favorite gun at the back of Germany's head; and pulling the trigger.


	2. To Realize

Nations can't die. It's physically impossible for an enitre landmass to just seace to exist. They can be re-named, changed, given a new set of rules to follow; but they can never truly die. No matter how many wars they've seen, how long they've lived, or how many leader's they've had; it just can't happen.

But their names can be forgotten, erased from history and books; sentencing the country to a slow, painful fading process. Taking little bits and pieces of their sanity and morals away from them until nothing but desperation and sorrow is left behind. Until only memories haunt them and their friends and family no longer answer their calls.

Germany won't die from a shot to skull...

But will he recognize the man who's holding the smoking gun when he recovers?

His laughs sputter, faltering as the tears start to fall. He collapses under the weight of what he's done, even as West slumps forward in his chair; the twin thuds of the gun hitting the floor and Germany's forehead against the table are drowned out by the shouts of the other nations.

They all heard the shot, seen Germany's eyes roll back in their sockets, can smell the gun powder and blood as it settles.

He was spared at least that much, but the knowledge alone that he shot his own brother is enough to keep his eyes firmly clamped shut against the sight none-the-less. No matter how hard he tries, he can't keep his hands from shaking or from hearing the ringing of the gun as he pulled the trigger.

And he needs to stop crying, _verdammit!_ He swipes at his cheeks with trembling fingers, growling at himself to pull it together. He's shot a gun before; even reveled in the recoil and carnage it caused.

But this was different. He had just put a bullet in his baby brother's head, because he wanted others to remember his name.

The sheer selfish-ness of that thought, that he had effectively "murdered" a member of his own family simply because he couldn't bare to left alone, was enough to force him back into deranged giggles. His crimson gaze dulled until all he could see was the red of West's blood dripping on the floor, his body still except for the jerky movements of his shoulders as he laughed and sobbed all at the same time.

He doesn't even notice when someone picks up his prized gun, and smashes the grip into his ear. The last things he remembers before falling into the dark is the sound of confused and angry voices, swirling around a pool of dark red.


	3. To Regret

If the character of a person points toward the clinically insane half of the crazy meter, than there's an excuse for their bat shit behavior. Albeit a small one, but an excuse all the same. But, when that person happened to be a perfectly sane, if a bit eccentric, nation; well...

He had no excuse. He sure as hell wasn't insane though! Was he? It was during times like this, with his hands behind his back and his ears ringing, that he wasn't sure. It wasn't like he hadn't been in a situation like this before. But, with one major exception.

All the other times, his brother had been the one to slap some sense back into him. West had bailed him out, always scolding, but with a little amused smile. The little brother that could never, really, be mad with him. Disappointed, sure. But never truly angry.

And he'd just shot him. Point blank, cold blooded, no hesitation.

"I'm one sick fuck..." He whispered into the unforgiving floor, fresh tears strangling the words even as the scent of blood threatened to choke him. He could barely breath, and he was still dizzy from the blow to his head. It was hard to focus on his own thoughts, let alone what was going on around him; he could feel heavy boots stomping away through the floor, and hear the sound of voices, even if he couldn't separate specific conversation.

He gave his wrists a weak tug, being met with resistance from a thicker strip of leather. A belt, probably. He didn't care. He could see a little pool of red next to his eye, most likely from his wounded ear. He didn't give a damn about that either.

All he cared about was finding out if Germany was being taken care of. He couldn't even remember why he had pulled the trigger in the first place; only that it wasn't for a good enough reason. _It was selfish and un-awesome_, his conscience murmured to him as he tried to sit up.

He had no arguments for that. He certainly didn't feel so awesome anymore. It was the understatement of the century, to be completely honest.

Water flooded his unclear vision, making it harder to concentrate on any one thing. He sneered at his own weakness, allowing himself to cry so easily when he _knew_ things would work out for the better. As soon as the others remembered his god damned name. His eyes rebelled against him as he tried to get them to stop tearing up, just as stubborn as the rest of him.

He didn't need the stupid tears to remind him that he was the biggest dumbass on the face of the planet. He didn't want them distracting him from his goal, to keep him from sitting up so he could look for West. He didn't know if they had moved him or not, or if he was already up and about, waiting for him so that he could lecture him. If the latter was true, he'd actually be ready and will, for once in his life, to listen.

He finally made it into an upright position after a few minutes of struggling, head swimming and vision blurry, but on his ass with his back against the wall. It was only then that he noticed something important. The other voices in the room had been slowly dying down until the only sound left in the room was his own unsteady breathing. As his eyes cleared, he could see figures crowded together around the room, most of whom were now staring at him. Glaring, would be a better word, for none of them looked too happy to see him awake.

"Now... don't you all start talkin' at once," he croaked, forcing a little smirk on his chapped lips.

Which was a decidedly bad idea, he figured out, since the countries closest to him lunged at him the second his bloody lips parted.


End file.
